LIX. Far different with our Country! mark the time When she threw off her trans-atlantic yoke-- Throughout the wide domain of her fair clime, But one high soldier from his promise broke: In that free gathering who would not enroll With all the patriot's willingness of soul? Our fathers fought for sacred home and hearth! And were too young in crime to think of treason's birth. LX. And when the war had passed, and Freedom raised Her temple to her worshippers, to bless Those who had lit her altar fires, that blazed To light the far untrodden wilderness, All felt the worship, all confessed the God, All knew the tyrant, and all curs'd his rod-- And if one heart fell from his promise then, Why, he might live like Cain, scorned of his fellow men. LXI. The Cain of Nations! be that sov'reignty, That shall, for any purpose, seek to sever The glorious union of the brave and free-- That, but for treason, will endure forever! Her curse shall be the base redeemless lot Of the once free, who feel that they are not-- Who tread their native soil as native slaves, And build their bondage house on their free fathers' graves. LXII. In such a state, would not a Caesar rise, And chain the nation to his gory car, And pluck from out the blue of our bright skies, To form his diadem, that falling star? Then, one by one, each brilliant light would fall, And primal chaos desolate them all-- While Tyranny, with loud prophetic shout, Would wave his bloody sword, as each and all went out! LXIII. That free born spirit who could rouse again? The dried-up fountain and the scorched up field. The breath, that withers mountain, flood, and plain, To Nature's revolution learn to yield: As strong as ever, man may tread the soil, And sweat for others at his daily toil-- But how shall he regain the gift unbought, The privilege to act the high resolve of thought? LXIV. Say, how shall he regain it, when 'twas giv'n With broken vow, apostatizing breath? How stand erect, how look to the bright Heav'n, Cloth'd in the darkness of that moral death? Her rights down trod, her star-lit banner rent, O! where could Freedom find an armament? How gather, in their glory and their pride, Her own grey father-band, who, for her, nobly died.